by Sam Bowring
Suddenly, what he saw ahead made him slide into the shadows. By one of the high walls, a figure was swiftly climbing a tree. It swung nimbly off a branch and disappeared over the wall. Bel moved carefully down the street towards the spot and stopped where the figure had gone over. He thought he heard the slight creak of a door closing. He went to the tree and hoisted himself up, wincing as he made the branches rustle, but no audible response came from over the wall. Climbing a good three paces up, he grabbed the same branch he’d seen the trespasser use and swung out over the wall. He landed on soft grass and jumped behind a nearby bush, waiting to see if he’d given himself away. He was in an enclosed garden, about twenty paces square. Ferns and small trees clustered about, and the outside wall of the house ran with chains of ivy. Bel saw that the back door was slightly ajar, and noticed scratch marks on the lock. The intruder had picked it.
Bel went inside silently. He stood in a kitchen of pale tiles, with a hardwood table in the middle and elaborate lantern-holders in the walls. As he made his way into the next room he was met by tapestries, paintings and a polished dining table with an interconnected row of candelabra running down its centre. With such wealth on display, Bel guessed there would be privately employed guards somewhere in the house. If he called out for them, however, the thief would also become aware of his presence. Instead he went from room to room, skirting the walls and pausing at doors to peek into the next before entering.
He came to a study with neat shelves of thick books that looked clean and unread, and stole up to the open door at the other end. Through it was a living room – plush red carpet, deep armchairs and a huge metal fireplace carved with flames. Around the walls were marble pedestals on which rested various display pieces: statuettes, carvings, a bust, and, on the one the thief stood by, a vase.
Moonlight crept through a window and Bel saw that the figure was hooded in a light green cloak and wearing black leather boots. She turned, revealing herself to be a woman as the moon chased the contours of her body. Of her face he could see nothing, for it was wrapped in strips of cloth, and the hood covered her eyes. As she lowered her head to the satchel, a lock of her hair came loose from under the hood and unravelled to full length, a dark red waterfall. She raised a hand to push it back into place with fingers long and clever. Bel froze, dumbfounded. It was Jaya.
She pulled something from the satchel and dimly Bel remembered that he was a keeper stalking a thief – a thief who was now behaving very strangely indeed. She held what looked like a water bladder, and unwound the cord that bound it closed. She upended the bladder and a black liquid poured out, filling the vase and spilling down its sides, staining it with dark streams. She slung the satchel over her shoulder and began to tread soundlessly back towards the door where Bel stood hiding.
Bel flattened himself against the wall, his mind whirring. What was the purpose of her odd intrusion?
Instinct took over as her shadow passed through the door frame and his hands shot out. She gave a low cry of surprise, twisting immediately and with surprising strength. Bel came away with nothing but her cloak, ripped from her back. She turned into a fleeting shadow, darting away through the dark house. Stealth was forgotten as Bel chased after, desperate not to let her escape, and not because she had broken the law.
He entered the kitchen just in time to see her push open the back door. Into the garden they ran, her red hair streaming now that her hood was gone. He caught up to her as she started up a tree, catching her arm and pulling her to the ground. She rolled to her feet and Bel heard a rasping of metal as she produced a sword.
‘Wait!’ he said, but was forced to draw his own. From the house came voices, and lanterns were being lit. Bel deflected her sword, their blades flashing silver in the moonlight. ‘Jaya, it’s me!’ he said.
‘Bel?’ she exclaimed in surprise. ‘What are you –’
‘There’s no time,’ he hissed. ‘You must escape – but promise that you’ll find me again!’
‘I was going to,’ she said. ‘I promise.’
‘Then go.’
She took a step away, turned to look at him again.
‘Quickly,’ he whispered.
She sprinted away into the garden as the door banged open. Four guards with swords emerged from the house and spotted Bel immediately.
‘I’m a peacekeeper!’ he called, tapping the badge on his shoulder.
‘What goes on?’ demanded one of them.
‘There was a thief,’ said Bel, ‘in the house. I don’t know where she went.’
‘There!’ shouted a guard, pointing to a silhouette that climbed a tree by the garden wall. As Jaya disappeared over the side, the guard ran to the garden gate, fumbling for his keys. Another guard gripped Bel by the shoulder.
‘What’s wrong, man? Are you hurt?’
Bel said nothing, just stared in the direction she had gone.
The man shook him. ‘Why didn’t you chase her?’
Bel looked at the man for the first time. What was he doing? As the gate opened and guards poured out, he realised he had better give chase as well, lest his actions look even more suspicious. He ran through the gate behind the guards. Out in the street, Jaya was hedged on both sides by high walls, without side streets to duck into. The guards in pursuit were catching up and Bel realised she was limping. She must have hurt her foot in the jump from the wall. Scant seconds later the guards had her, kicking her legs from under her so she fell hard on the cobblestones. One kicked her again so she rolled onto her back; another grabbed her hand as she went for a dagger in her boot. Swords levelled on her and she ceased all struggle, glaring up angrily.
‘Search her!’ ordered the head guard, and the others bent to probe her roughly. One emptied her satchel onto the cobblestones.
‘Thieves’ tools,’ he announced. ‘Nothing from the house.’
The head guard turned to Bel. ‘Why didn’t you call for help?’ he demanded.
‘What, and have her escape before I could grab her?’ he shot back. ‘I suppose, like you, I should have rampaged about the house like a pack of drunken mountain trolls, giving her ample warning of my whereabouts!’
The man scowled. ‘Yes, you did so much better than us,’ he said. ‘Did you see her take anything?’
‘No.’
The guard’s eyes narrowed and he bent to Jaya, taking a shoulder to shake her roughly. ‘What were you doing in the house?’ he demanded.
Bel had had enough. He pushed the head guard away so roughly that the man fell on his buttocks. ‘Back off, all of you!’ he growled. ‘This woman is a prisoner of Kainordas now. You may not touch her.’
‘We will question her!’ shouted the head guard, rising red with rage. The others took up dangerous postures.
‘You will do nothing of the sort, civilian,’ said Bel, moving between Jaya and the men, his fingers drumming the hilt of his sword. ‘She will be questioned by an overseer, not subjected to thugs’ justice. Lower your swords!’ he bellowed, ‘lest you all be charged with treason!’
The men glanced to their leader, who sneered and made a motion with his hands. The swords came down. Assaulting a keeper was a very serious crime.
‘Well, then,’ said the head guard, ‘we will help you escort her to the holding cells – just in case you decide to stand around while she escapes again.’
His tone implied that he would back down no further, and Bel suppressed the urge to force him to. Little did these men know that, if he’d wanted to, Bel could have left them all in tatters. He nodded stiffly.
‘Come, then. Help me with the girl, and that grip of yours better not be any tighter than it need be.’
‘Nor yours any looser,’ retorted the guard, and together they lifted the miserable Jaya from the ground.
Twenty-nine / Behind Bars and Beyond
Twenty-nine
Behind Bars and Beyond
Behind Bars and Beyond
‘Where is she?’ demanded Lord Cydus. He stood at the desk in the foyer of the keepers’ headquarters, flanked by two of his brutish guards.
Captain Hosarus took a well-chewed straw from his mouth. ‘In a holding cell, my lord,’ he answered flatly. Bel stood behind him, glad his superior had taken an instant dislike to this man.
Cydus puffed up his already puffy cheeks. He was short and dumpy with a square brown beard and twirled moustache, both painstakingly well tended yet not managing to hide the pockmarked and blotchy skin beneath. His eyes were red-rimmed and his clothes looked hastily thrown on. He had obviously been asleep until very recently.
‘I have some questions for her, captain,’ Cydus said. ‘You will let my men speak to her.’
‘I’m afraid not, lord,’ said Hosarus steadily. ‘She will remain here until an overseer can question her. That is the law.’
‘Don’t play games with me!’ spat Cydus. ‘That little bitch came into my home and vandalised a precious vase! It was an intended gift, in fact, to the visiting Trusted, and I will not go to her, having already pledged it, with nothing!’ He stamped a foot, making Hosarus’s eyebrows go up as it came down. ‘She will pay, if I have to take it out of her hide, by Arkus!’
‘I’m afraid my lord is overly upset,’ Hosarus said. ‘Perhaps it would be best if he returned home and finished the night’s sleep.’
‘I will see her!’ shouted Cydus, his face bright red. ‘She will learn she can’t muck around with Assicon Cydus or his property!’
The man tried to go around the desk and suddenly Bel was blocking his way.
‘I suggest you step back, Lord Cydus,’ he said. ‘You cannot enter here, nor your men.’
Cydus’s moustache twitched about like a worm on a hook. ‘The Throne will hear of this matter, and of your disrespect!’ he said.
He spun and marched out of the building, snapping his fingers at his men to follow. They did so, after final hard looks at Bel and the captain. When they were gone, Hosarus sighed.
‘Bloody lords and ladies,’ he said, putting the straw back in his mouth. ‘They think they own the place.’
‘Excuse me, captain,’ said Bel. ‘But what will happen to her now? The girl, I mean.’
‘Just what I said. Due process. Now you also go home and get some sleep. I don’t want you snoring on your feet tomorrow.’
Bel paused, but his captain remained steadfast with hands on hips. Bel found that he, like Cydus, was forced to retreat.
‘Don’t worry,’ said Hosarus. ‘Cydus won’t get near her.’
‘Yes, captain,’ was all Bel could think to say, and he stepped out again into the night.
•
Bel was face down in his pillow the next morning when a knocking sounded at his door. He woke reluctantly, sitting up to rub tired eyes. The knocking came again more loudly.
‘All right,’ he said. ‘I’m not supposed to be up yet anyway!’
Sliding on a pair of trousers, he walked to the door. Upon opening it he blinked in surprise – his visitor was Baygis, holding a tray with a steaming pot and two mugs.
‘Lord Baygis,’ he said, becoming self-conscious of his near nakedness. ‘I, er . . .’
‘Never mind, Bel,’ said Baygis, moving past him into the roofless living room, now lit up by the morning light. The bedroom was off to one side, with a ceiling to keep the sun from tired eyes. ‘Sorry for waking you,’ he said, smiling at the bleary Bel. ‘I’ve brought tea as a gesture of apology.’ He placed the tray on the table, swept back his white-gold robe and looked expectant.
‘Have a seat, lord,’ said Bel, searching around for a shirt to pull on.
‘Thank you,’ said Baygis. He sat and poured hot tea. ‘Been a while since I had reason to visit the soldiers’ quarters,’ he said, and took a test sip. ‘Mmm. Not bad for barracks brew.’
Bel had always liked Baygis, though he’d never had much to do with him. As an ambassador the man was a respected master of negotiation, and as overseer was reputed to be fair and even-tempered. He also had a charmingly mischievous side that created constant stress for the Throne and gossip for the court. Bel found it odd, and more than a little intimidating, to have the sleek, well-groomed lord sitting opposite him in his rooms before he’d even had a chance for bath or breakfast.
‘What can I do for you, my lord?’ he asked.
‘Ah,’ smiled Baygis, ‘the obvious question. Fair enough, I suppose, when one is so rudely interrupted of a morning. I understand you arrested a thief last night, whom you caught breaking into the Kadass residence of the worthy and honourable Assicon Cydus?’ There was only the sneakiest note of sarcasm in Baygis’s voice.
‘I did, lord,’ said Bel, the thought of Jaya now truly waking him. ‘What’s happened?’
‘Politics has happened,’ said Baygis, spooning more sugar into his mug. He misread the look of concern on Bel’s face and gave a reassuring smile. ‘Don’t worry, you’re not in any trouble. One of Cydus’s private guards complained about your conduct, but given your record, and his, we don’t feel compelled to take him seriously. I always wonder about nobles who opt for hired swords over the trained soldiers they have every right to be allocated.’ He swirled the spoon. ‘So,’ he continued, ‘this is the situation: the only thing the girl did in the house, as far as we can tell, was pour ink all over a valuable vase that Cydus bought in Tulzan. You know of Tulzan?’
‘A village in lower Dennali,’ recited Bel, ‘on the northern border of the Hinter Swamplands. They are noted masters of ceramics and use a special clay from the swamp.’
‘Ah,’ said Baygis, eyes twinkling, ‘another casualty of Fahren’s geography lessons. I suffered them myself for many years. Yes, that is Tulzan. It is also where Cydus holds his estate, and one of the reasons he graces us with his presence in Kadass so often – the insects bite like dragons down there and the weather is awful.’ Baygis blew on his tea. ‘Anyway, Cydus says the vase is an expensive piece from a master craftsman, and having seen it myself I tend to believe him. Probably worth a hundred gold at least . . . until it got stained by black ink. A strange crime indeed, and I’m curious to question the girl about her motives.’
‘So you are the overseer on this?’ said Bel, unable to keep tension from his voice.
‘Yes, indeed,’ answered Baygis. ‘Cydus demands a fast hearing. He intended the vase to be a gift to the wasp Trusted, and now that it’s ruined, he’s embarrassed – having already bragged about the gift at the palace reception yesterday. He’s been up at the Halls all morning, putting on a great display of anger for the Trusted’s benefit, demanding that the Throne look into the matter quickly. Normally, of course, my good father would tell Cydus to go and soak his balls in hot water, or something equally incisive, but the Zyvanix are an odd people and the Throne is afraid to cause them offence. He wants to concentrate on the real matters at hand and hence is dealing with this distraction in the easiest way possible – namely, by dragging in his overseer son to deal with it. So,’ he spread his palms on the table, ‘what I’d like to do is hear your version of events before I go and see this girl.’
‘Will you use magic?’ asked Bel, managing to cover his anxiety. Baygis was famous for his ability to milk the truth from people using persuasive magic, and Bel was still sorting through the strangeness of the night before for himself.
‘No,’ said Baygis. ‘Just tell me what happened. I only want your story to check against the girl’s.’
Bel nodded. He recounted the events of the night before as though he hadn’t known Jaya previously, and didn’t mention his mercy in the garden, or the way he was stirred when he looked into her green flecked eyes.
•
Baygis was, thankfully, satisfied with Bel’s version of events.
After he’d left, Bel prepared for his day on patrol. He met Hiza in Kadass at the keepers’ headquarters and together they set off into the streets. Hiza quickly discovered that his friend was in a contemplative mood, staring off into the distance and shutting down any attempts at banter with short, vague answers. When the patrol ended, Bel excused himself quickly and Hiza went off in search of livelier cronies.
Bel re-entered the keepers’ headquarters. He made his way along cream corridors, heading for the holding cells where Jaya was being kept. He arrived in a room lit by fickle candles. Behind a desk sat Gint, a gangly old keeper who looked after the prisoners, hunched over in a comfortable-looking chair and reading a dog-eared book.
‘Hello, Gint,’ said Bel. ‘Been busy?’
Gint glanced up. ‘Ah, Bel. No, son, no traffic today. Not even a single rambunctious drunkard.’
‘Thought you might like a pie,’ said Bel, placing a cloth-wrapped pie on the desk. Gint’s eyes lit up instantly. ‘Mind if I go through?’ he continued nonchalantly. ‘I want to talk to the girl I brought in last night.’
‘Go ahead,’ said Gint, waving at the door behind him, clearly anticipating quality time with the pie. ‘She’s to the left at the far end. Key’s in the usual place. Be careful of her, she’s a bit feisty, I wouldn’t go past the inner grille. Holler if you need me.’
‘Thanks,’ said Bel.
He entered the cells, closing the door behind him and taking down the set of keys that hung just inside. Before him was a passage lined with heavy oak doors, set with panels for observing the cells beyond. Bel came to the last cell and paused, attempted to collect his thoughts, failed, then opened the door. The room was divided in half by a grille of iron bars, creating a viewing chamber and the cell proper, designed so overseers could sit and question prisoners face to face in privacy and safety. In the ceiling was a grated skylight through which the moon dimly illuminated the cell and its occupant. She lay face down on a single bed pushed against the wall, one arm draped listlessly to the floor. Her clothes were the same as the day before – streamlined, body-hugging thieves’ garb: a long-sleeved jade cotton shirt and black leggings. She raised her head.